You Can't Always Get What You Want

[Evelyn Roslin]

"False wall. Right."

Who is this guy?

Evelyn was a bit too hungover to spend much time contemplating Nicair's shirtless form, though she did notice him cover his wrist rather quickly. Food for thought later, when her head didn't feel like it was splitting open, and she could face her own mind without wanting to curl into the fetal position.

Stepping on the aforementioned tile, the young woman shook her head slightly as the 'wall' in front of her whooshed to the side. Stepping forward, she frowned as the 360 mirrors confirmed for her that yes, she did in fact look as terrible as she felt. Greasy hair, dark circles under her eyes, and little specks of blood dotted her neck and collarbone. Apparently, she'd missed a few spots last night.

Remembering the source of that blood made her shiver, her stomach clenching. This time though, she fought down the nausea, and closed the false wall, then slipped out of her clothes. She would have preferred burning them, as they had their own share of bloodstains, but wandering around in the buff seemed a poor choice.

Stepping into the 'fresher, Evelyn turned the water on, and mechanically went through the motions of washing her hair (twice), and scrubbed her body til her skin was tingling and pink. Even then, she didn't quite feel clean enough. Reaching back, she turned the water up hotter, steam rising in the small room. Hazel eyes closed, and she leaned forward against the wall, letting the water cascade down her back in a pulsing rhythm.

Vier's dead. And I killed a man.

Those two thoughts were like sledgehammers against the foundation of her mind, her character. A third thought ghosted around the edges of her mind, one she'd fought strenuously to ignore.

And it felt good.

The sense of power, the release, of giving in to her emotions, feeling anger and rage course through her veins like an electric current. There was a purity to how primal it was, and a kind of seduction in how it had, at least for a few moments, obliterated all else. By channeling her pain into action, she'd temporarily released herself from it.

Evelyn was horrified by her actions, by the violence and barbarity of it. But part of her . . . part of her recognized them as a way out of her current emotional turmoil. A catharsis of sorts.

Then again, it hadn't removed the pain; no, she was still feeling plenty of that. Pain, confusion, and a growing sense of fear that she was losing herself. She'd always thought of herself as a good person.

But good people don't bash men's brains out in dark alleyways.

Tears came then, mingling with the water. They were mainly silent, releasing from tension and grief that refused to be pent up any longer.

Evelyn wasn't sure how long she stood under the water, but eventually, she realized that it had gone from steaming to ice-cold. She opened her eyes, and stepped out of the 'fresher, grabbing a towel, and grudgingly putting on her clothes once more, though she left off the blood-spattered outer jacket. Clad in black pants and a deep purple tanktop, she inhaled and exhaled slowly before re-emerging from the 'fresher, wondering just where the hell she was supposed to go from here.





[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

Nicair really didn't know what to do with himself while he was waiting. It was one of those strange social situations that he was never in, a strange taking a long 'fresher in his tiny apartment while the rest of the place was just about to wake up or probably had already. He had already finished donning the rest of his armor and had looked around outside. He figured it was protocol to get some form of food and drink for when she was out. He didn't have to go far to find a vendor selling bantha biscuits and fresh caf. Upon his returning and her still remaining within the bathroom he began working his hand dexterity. His tomahawk and beskad began to get decent swings in them before he dropped one or the other. As he was left handed and his beskad was in his right he most often dropped that, once or twice it would land point down in the floor and make the satisfying tung. His weapon twirling stopped when he heard the water stop and the door slide open.

Her skin had a strange coloration to it, like it had been sent through the environmental ringer of extreme temperatures. Nicair didn't much ponder on the subject, sometimes he'd do that to himself to jump start his body, to each their own.

"Got some food. Eat up. We'll talk about recent events when you're through."

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

[member="Nicair Claden"]


The smell of the bantha biscuits drifted to her nostrils, and her stomach responded by reminding her it had been far too long since she'd eaten something of substance. Evelyn was generally more likely to experience nausea on the front end of a drinking binge, with the room spinning on its axis when she retired for the evening, as opposed to an accompanying hangover symptom the next morning.

For the next few minutes, devouring the food and caffeine in front of her occupied her full attention. However, eventually the hunger faded, and the young woman realized she couldn't avoid the fall-out from 'recent events' hanging over them.

The bitter caf was something of a comfort, as much a mental effect as it was physical. Evelyn held her mug close with both hands, as though it were a shield of sorts- or a life-preserver.

"Thank you, for helping me . . . for letting me stay here."

She paused, at a bit of a loss for how to deal with having murdered a man and potentially having his compatriots out for revenge.

"Maybe . . . maybe it would be best if I just went to the police."

They'd been precious little help after Vier's death, simply going through the motions. His death was unremarkable in their eyes; that sort of thing happened all the time on Coruscant, and the sheer randomness of it left them with little leads or expectation of finding the killer.

Now, they'd only find his corpse.

 

[Nicair Claden]

"I wouldn't. You might get protection if you do, but it'll be from the inside of a cell." He crossed his arms over his chest. The metal of his wrists and chest made a sort of grating sound. He had finished his food awhile ago, habit of living on the move is eating fast.

Her face contorted in thought, it wasn't much but a crinkling of her brow.

Guilty conscience.

The idea to turn herself in was a result of just that. In part he understood. A balancing out of scales. But blood had begot blood. It would be a testament to her character if her vengeance was sated or not.

Would mine?

Statistics said no.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

Maybe that's what I deserve . . .

Evelyn entertained the thought for a moment, before the anger answered for her.

No. I will not be caged for seeking justice.

The line between justice and vengeance was rather blurred in this case, but it seemed to be getting more difficult to identify the nuance.

She sighed, and shook her head.

"You're right."

Hazel eyes met Nicair's, intent and focused. It wasn't like planning courses of action to avoid angry gangs was necessarily her forte . . . but the Mandalorian in front of her seemed like he was far from discomforted by the situation.

"So how do we keep them from coming after me? Kill them all?"

She meant it as a joke, a deliberate exaggeration, but after the words left her lips, she was startled to realize that the idea didn't seem so outlandish.

[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

"It's one of the options." Nicair matched her gaze without breaking it. Mostly he was serious, almost hoped she'd go for it, gave him a reason to.

"Another is to get off Coruscant. Therein lies the option that they don't even know it's you." He flared his nostrils at this. Certainly the more boring options, no test of skill, no big campaign of bloodshed. He itched for that high, the euphoria that only rests there.

"The only question is how much you're willing to do for. . . justice. So to speak."

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]